Never Say Distinguished!
by slimwhistler
Summary: In which a rogue bit of porridge leads Phryne to make a very interesting discovery, and Jack is rather dismayed. Seventh in the Uncharted Territory Series. Cotton-candy fluffy. :) Please let me know if you enjoyed!


Wow, it's been a while. I've been trying to pick up the pace on my dissertation, and this piece was really resistant to being put down on paper for some reason even though it's probably the fluffiest one yet. Thanks as always to my long-suffering beta, DrinkwaterDrinkwine, who let me rot her brain for months with the various bits of cotton candy fluffiness that ended up going into this story. Sincere thanks also to everyone on Tumblr who put up with my moaning about writers block and still encouraged me anyway. :-P (This piece came about thanks to a Tumblr conversation, actually, so thanks for the inspiration, everyone!) And eerily enough, this piece at least partially answers one of my prompts for the MFMM Ficathon, so someone gets an early holiday present!

There really should be another piece between "A to B" and this one, about how everyone adjusts to baby Ellie, but while it's not really angsty there is a lot of tension, and I needed to work on something fluffy after "A to B." That as yet unwritten piece will, amongst other things, introduce Ellie's young nanny, Josie, who is Constable Weatherly's sister (an OC mentioned in a few of my other stories.) She is about 16 and has some difficulty walking because of a childhood bout of polio. An unexpected gift of baby clothes leads Jack to discover that Josie is an avid fan of the "Miss Fisher tales" her brother brings home, and things progress from there. :-)

Anyway, that's a tale for another day, hopefully. Please enjoy, and thanks!

* * *

Sundays, Phryne reflected as she padded down the stairs, were absolutely _blissful_. Oh, the decadence of not leaving her bed until almost noon! A few years ago she would have thought nothing of it, but after nearly seven months of motherhood it seemed the height of indulgence, especially as it had only been possible for the last month. That was when Ellie had really started to embrace her first solids, in addition to Mac finally hitting on a formulated milk mixture the little girl would tolerate; as far as Phryne was concerned, that had come not a moment too soon. She didn't begrudge her daughter's need for nourishment, of course, but it _had_ become tiresome to structure her day entirely around feedings, and she had hated feeling as though she absolutely _had_ to stay close by, just in case. The knowledge that anyone could feed Ellie now—Dot, young Josie, Mr. Butler, even Bert—was a profound relief. And on Sundays, of course, there was Jack.

The house was quiet. Dot and Mr. Butler had the day off as usual (Phryne hoped Dot survived another Sunday dinner with her mother-in-law; she really should investigate having a cottage built in the back now that things had finally calmed down and she was feeling more the thing), and young Josie always left after an early breakfast to go to church and dinner with her brother, followed by a film and a walk to strengthen her leg. That meant that until she came down, Jack tended and amused their daughter on his own. Phryne hadn't been at all surprised when he had suggested the arrangement; Jack had taken to fatherhood with an ease she rather envied on occasion, and she knew he relished the time alone with Ellie.

With that in mind, she crept carefully to the parlor doorway; watching the two of them together was becoming a favorite pastime, particularly when they were unaware of her presence. The scene that greeted her this morning was as endearing as usual: Ellie Bea, clad in a flowered romper, lay on a blanket strewn with toys. Gumming the ear of her favorite cloth elephant, she watched intently as Jack, on hands and knees, gathered scattered, brightly-colored wooden blocks and animals into a pile. He wore his preferred Sunday clothes, a green pullover over an open-necked shirt, casual trousers, and oxfords. (Phryne had tried to persuade him that pajamas and dressing gown were perfectly acceptable for a Sunday morning, but he wouldn't agree, not with the possibility of Josie coming back early. So proper at times, her Jack.) "We'd better hurry now, Sprite," Jack told the little girl seriously, "Mummy's likely to be down at any moment, and you know she doesn't like it when we leave a mess."

"Rather late for that, I'm afraid, Jack," Phryne said, amused. Jack's hair fell over his forehead as he turned, startled, while Ellie's eyes brightened as she babbled a nonsensical greeting. Even after seven months, Phryne still didn't quite know what to make of it when her daughter appeared _quite_ so thrilled to see her. She loved her, of course, and played with her and sang to her, and there were the feedings, but… she didn't dote on her like Jack did; or lavish praise on every new accomplishment like Josie, who was devoted to her young charge; or appear crestfallen if Ellie was sleeping and thus unavailable for a few minutes of bouncing or tickling or playing airplane like Bert often did (although Bert was so besotted he didn't even seem to mind those occasions when games of airplane caused Ellie to spit up all over him, so Phryne didn't really feel she could compare herself to him in any case). Regardless, Ellie seemed quite content with Phryne's more restrained enthusiasm, and always greeted her appearance with delight. It was humbling, and confusing, but…still rather nice, she supposed.

"Good morning, you two," she said, entering the room. She bent down and ruffled the baby's light-brown curls, barely resisting the urge to do the same to Jack. When the baby gave her a gummy smile, she chuckled. "Hello, Lillaby darling. Did you have fun building towers with Daddy?" She still winced a bit every time she uttered the morphine-induced pet name, but it _was_ rather dear, and it _did_ suit their little sprite, so Phryne had resigned herself to using it on occasion.

" _Daddy_ had fun building the towers," Jack said dryly, getting up and crossing to give her a brief kiss. "Ellie had fun knocking them down."

" _So_ much more satisfying," Phryne told the baby approvingly. As Ellie cooed in response, Phryne noticed the tin carousel sitting on the edge of the blanket, and flicked the lever that made it spin. Lately, Ellie was particularly fascinated with anything that moved, like clockwork toys, tin tops and model cars, but the carousel strung with tiny planes was a particular favorite, much to Phryne's amusement. As the planes began to rotate, Ellie let out a pleased cry and did her best to wriggle forward, reaching out toward them with a chubby hand.

"Careful, little one," Phryne cautioned, moving the carousel out of the baby's reach, "we want them to keep flying, don't we?" Ellie let out a discontented "Ba!" at having her fun thwarted, and her big blue eyes began to shimmer with tears. "Goodness," Phryne murmured, "it's not nearly so tragic as that, is it?" She scooped the baby up, once again enjoying being able to do so without pain in her abdomen, and made sure to collect the elephant, which Josie had christened Flora, from the blanket as well. "Come on, let's take Flora and have a cuddle, hmm?" She settled down in the window seat, banishing Ellie's lingering tears with her efforts at making Flora trumpet. Despite the increased propensity for tantrums (although these were nothing to what they'd face in a year or two, if Dot was to be believed), she found mothering a great deal easier now that she could interact more meaningfully with her daughter, and know that she preferred the carousel to her clockwork mouse, and the clockwork mouse to the waddling duck. It was silly, Phryne supposed, but she found it comforting to know these little likes and dislikes.

As Ellie sucked contentedly on Flora's ear once more, Phryne noticed the book lying face down in the corner. "Really, Jack, don't you think she's a bit young for _Alice_ yet?" Considering how he had smirked when Phryne had wanted to buy a pram just a few months earlier than they needed to, Phryne found it terribly ironic that he seemed to have collected every well-known children's book he could think of before their daughter had even uttered her first word!

"Oh, but she loves the Jabberwock!" Jack protested, looking up from tossing toys in a large wicker basket. The baskets had been Josie's idea. Phryne had no wish to consign her daughter mainly to the nursery until she started school, continually shuffled out of the way while being seen and not heard. Ellie deserved to be as much a part of the regular hustle and bustle of the house as was practical. However, that didn't mean she wanted the entirety of the house to become an extension of the nursery, tripping over blankets and bottles and toys at every turn. Josie had suggested keeping the large handled baskets in various rooms, so Ellie's things could be quickly gathered and tucked into a corner, or removed entirely if needs be. The young nursemaid had received an enthusiastic kiss on the forehead for that, as at the time Phryne had been too frazzled to think of so neat and simple a solution; it was so reassuring to think of her parlor remaining an adult haven, still suitable for Gershwin and cocktails and flirting.

At the moment, however, Ellie's presence was very welcome. She rolled her eyes at Jack, but still quoted from the poem as she tickled the baby's belly. " _The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!,_ hmmm?" she sing-songed, poking Ellie's bellybutton as though her finger were a sword. At the answering enthusiastic chortle, Phryne made an exaggerated grimace. "How bloodthirsty!" she scolded playfully, and laughed as Ellie merely reached up to try to grab her nose in response. She ran a hand over the baby's toffee-colored hair, smoothing out a few tangles. She had been rather delighted when it had shown a definite tendency to curl; between that and the blue eyes, Ellie bore a much closer resemblance to Jack, which pleased Phryne tremendously. Jack was hoping Ellie's eyes would turn green like her own, but Phryne rather suspected they would remain closer to Jack's rather changeable blue, or end up somewhere between the two. Time would tell.

She frowned when her fingers hit a particularly fierce tangle, then smiled as she looked down and realized that the tangle was caused by a glob of dried porridge, a common occurrence these days. Ever since Ellie had started eating solids, it seemed that a bit always ended up in her hair or ear or other unlikely place. It didn't matter whether she ate porridge, or Mr. Butler's applesauce (which she loved), or mashed carrots (which she appeared to detest); something always got stuck somewhere. "You've got porridge in your hair again, little star," Phryne informed the baby matter-of-factly.

Jack, overhearing, came to investigate with a frown. "Oh, I really thought we'd managed it for once."

"Porridge certainly has excellent aerodynamic properties," Phryne observed. "Now that's something I never thought I'd say," she added dryly. Smiling crookedly up at Jack, she suddenly noticed that he, too, seemed to have a bit of porridge stuck in his hair. "Jack, darling, come here," she said, laughter in her voice. "It looks like you got some, too."

Jack grimaced, but came closer and ducked his head obligingly. She ran her fingers through the rich brown waves that fell over his forehead, enjoying the softness of them when they were free of pomade. If Ellie's hair darkened to a similar shade, she hoped that it, too, would shine with hidden glints of auburn and bronze, she mused.

As she removed the bit of porridge, however, she thought she spied the glint of something else in the short hair above his ear. She peered closer. Yes, there it was, a hint of silvery gray. Rather dark, as gray hairs went, but unmistakably silver. Intrigued, she pushed the hair back from his forehead and inspected his temples, finding small patches there, too. "Jack…"

"Hmm?"

Goodness, the man never failed to enjoy a bit of petting; a few minutes and he was nearly as languid as a cat in the sun. She was rather loath to disturb his contentment, but she couldn't stop now, could she? "Ah, I do believe that I may have spied a touch of silver in your hair just now."

His eyes opened immediately, and she bit her lip, doing her best to keep a straight face, though she knew her eyes were dancing. "What?" He stared. "Where?"

She stroked his temple with a gentle finger. "Here." She did the same above his ear. "And here."

He continued to stare at her for a few moments, then abruptly turned and made for the hallway, no doubt heading for the mirror that hung there.

No longer feeling the need to hide her amusement, Phryne grinned down at the baby. "Well done, darling!" Phryne crowed. "Nearly three years of my driving Daddy to distraction without a single gray hair, but just six months with you, and now look!" Ellie chortled as Phryne spun her round. As the baby's hearty giggle was one of the few things she had no proof against, she couldn't resist bringing her close to rub noses with her.

Surprisingly, he turned back into the hallway, causing Phryne to raise her eyebrows. "Oh, dear," Phryne murmured to Ellie. "I suppose you and I and Flora had better go investigate, hadn't we?"

Dear Jack. He _had_ rather run himself ragged over the past months, what with the stress of Ellie's birth, and then all his rushing between home, the hospital, and the station, as he had stubbornly insisted on keeping an eye on everyone and everything. Phryne had still been in a fair amount of pain after she came home, short tempered, querulous, and prone to bursting into sudden fits of tears; as this rattled her even further, she had become even more snappish. And goodness knew Ellie had had a fine pair of lungs from the start, despite her early arrival. Poor man, it was no wonder he had a few gray hairs; she was rather amazed there weren't more, really.

From her position in the doorway, she watched as he studied himself intently in the mirror, now and then raking his hair back with an agitated hand. Shifting the baby more comfortably on to her hip, Phryne considered him further, feeling rather puzzled. Jack took a great deal of pride in his personal appearance, to be sure, but he had remarkably little vanity when it came to his looks, even going so far as to insist he was "just ordinary" on various occasions when she'd had the temerity to call him handsome. It was rather mystifying, but endearing, so this preoccupation with a few spots of gray surprised her. "They're not going to go away if you stare at them long enough, Jack," she said, deciding to attempt a bit of teasing. "Really, you're the last person I'd expect to sulk over something like this."

Jack turned and gave her a brief, halfhearted scowl. "I'm not **sulking** ," he retorted rather petulantly, "I'm just… _adjusting_."

"Well, can't you do that while being comfortable in the parlor? Ellie is missing you," Phryne wheedled, certain that would do the trick if anything could.

He took a breath and nodded, following her back into the room. "Really, I don't know what you're so worried about, Jack," she said as she settled herself and Ellie onto the chaise. "I happen to think you'll look quite dist—"

"Please, don't say 'distinguished.' Anything but that," he interrupted almost imploringly.

Taken aback at his fervency, Phryne asked, "Why on earth not, Jack?"

"It just seems to be what people have to say, when they can't think of anything else. Just a politic way of saying 'old.'"

"Oh, what rot, Jack! Why, some of the most active, virile men I've known have been silver as sixpences, and they certainly looked distinguished, to say nothing of fiendishly attractive," Phryne protested. "Need I remind you of Warwick Hamilton?" she asked slyly.

"Please don't," he winced.

"Besides," she continued with her teasing, "I was rather beginning to fancy being able to call you my 'Distinguished Inspector of the Silver Temple.'"

Jack snorted. "Good God, that sounds like something out of an especially lurid penny dreadful," he grumbled, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

Much better. She scooped up Ellie and held her out to Jack, hoping that the baby could restore her father's good humor even further. He smiled fondly at the little girl as he tucked her securely in the crook of his arm, causing Phryne to hide a small grin. Where their daughter was concerned, at least, Jack really was utterly predictable.

"All right, Jack, what's this really all about then, hmm?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, and then smiled wryly as he realized what he'd done. "I suppose it's just a reminder of time passing, time wasted. And I know it's foolish, Phryne, but…distinguished men are observers, not actors. They sit behind desks, perpetually. I'm not ready for that yet; God knows I don't feel that old, what with you two to run after! Honestly, I really think I'd go mad."

"Jack, really, it's not as though they put you out to pasture at the first gray hair! Goodness, I'd never have imagined you could be so nonsensical!"

"I'm rather shocked myself, if you must know. I never thought I'd accuse myself of vanity, that's for certain," he admitted ruefully.

"Don't be too hard on yourself, Jack," she chided gently, reaching up a hand to stroke his cheek. "We all have moments of doubt, and it would be wearisome if you were noble all of the time."

"So you won't mind being seen about town with a 'distinguished' husband and partner, then?" His expression and tone were amused, but she could read the hint of uncertainty in his gaze. Ridiculous man. Rolling her eyes, she addressed the baby: "What do you say, Ellie Bea? Shall we trade Daddy in for a newer model?"

As if on cue, their daughter offered a massive yawn, then turned her head to nuzzle into Jack's chest. "Well, it seems as though Ellie and I are of the same mind on the subject," Phryne said triumphantly. "I'm afraid you're stuck with us, Jack."

"I suppose I'll manage to cope somehow," Jack quipped with his usual dry humor. Immensely pleased, Phryne leaned forward to give him a kiss.

"You know, I suppose I could cater to this shocking instance of vanity by calling you 'dashing' instead of 'distinguished,' if you'd prefer it?" she offered innocently.

"I think I might, rather."

"But you know that every time I say 'dashing' after this we'll both be thinking 'distinguished,' so there's no point, really." Phryne concluded slyly.

Jack huffed. "Thank you for that," he groused, but his eyes were warm. "I shall enjoy reminding you of this conversation when it's your turn, you know."

"Oh, I'll never tell, Inspector."

"I shall take that as a challenge, Miss Fisher. Care to make a wager?"

She made a face at him, and he smirked. In her spot on Jack's chest, Ellie Bea slept soundly, almost as though she knew with that exchange that everything was once again as it should be at 221 B, The Esplanade.

* * *

I hope people are still enjoying these! If you have a moment, please do let me know! I can pretty much guarantee it will make my day. :-) I have many more stories I would like to tell, and it's so encouraging to know that others are as fond of this little universe as I am (particularly after a long day of data-wrangling and questioning my life choices, when I have to convince myself to write instead of just collapsing into bed. :-P )

Jack's reaction may be a bit out of character, but it was pretty fun to write, so I'm not too sorry. ;-) Plus, I loved the idea of Phryne being absolutely tickled at the thought that she's "in cahoots" with baby Ellie about something, and Jack rushing in to defend his precious, even in the middle of his own little crisis. See, that is pretty darn cute, isn't it? :-P )

As regards Phryne and motherhood, I tried really hard to have a balance between her loving Ellie and not wanting to give up too much of her life/autonomy, etc. I also wanted to try to be as honest about her thoughts and feelings on the subject (as I imagined them, that is) as possible. With respect to feeding, I sort of imagine Mac as being a proponent of breast-feeding, so Phryne acquiesces, somewhat unenthusiastically of course, but it becomes especially necessary when it turns out that Ellie doesn't tolerate formula well at first. (Research note: although commercial formulas were available in 1930, many substitutes were mixed entirely at home at that point, either from evaporated milk or combinations of things like milk, cream, water, sugar, cod liver oil, and orange juice… thank you, Wikipedia! That's basically what I meant when I talked about Mac coming up with a "formulated milk mixture." Just in case you were interested.)

Back to the dissertation for the moment! Thank you for reading! Many hugs and stars, friends.


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